We rode down to the southwest border of Roddmant, meeting Ternoc near the border of our domains. He had been there since before daylight. Last night a farmer’s boy had brought him word, passed from one serf or farmer to the next, that a party of horsemen was coming through Geremant in our direction, along what they called the forest path.
He, and the men with him, looked at me, and like Alloc, asked no question. No doubt they thought or hoped I had learned to use my gift.
“Maybe old Erroy will see the Drums trespassing and twist ’em into corkscrews,” said Ternoc with heavy humor. Canoc did not answer. Alert yet distant, as if some vision occupied him, he spoke only to confirm Ternoc’s directions.
There were eight of us in all, and four more men were hoped for from our border farms. Ternoc’s plan was that we should spread out no farther than hailing distance and keep watch. At the points likeliest for Drum’s men to enter, Ternoc and Canoc would stand guard. Those of us who had for arms only a knife or a boar lance would flank them, and our two men with longbows took the end stations.
So we spread out over the grassy, boggy hollows and little hillocks along the edge of the straggling woods. I had one of Ternoc’s farmers on my left and Canoc on my right. We were to keep one another in sight, which was easy for me, since I was on one of the hillocks and had a good view to both sides and into the woods. Often I could see Ternoc, too, on the rising ground beyond Canoc. The sun was well up now, though the day was grey and cold. A spatter of rain ran across the hills every now and then. I got off Greylag to let him rest and graze, and stood watching south, west, north. Watching! using my eyes! being of use, not a useless lump in a blindfold led about by a girl and a dog! What if I had no gift? I had my eyesight, and my anger, and a knife.
The hours went on. I ate the last of my bread and cheese, and wished I had brought twice as much. Three times as much.
The hours went on, and I felt sleepy and foolish, standing on a hill by an old horse, waiting for nothing.
The hours went on. The sun was halfway down to the hills. I walked to and fro reciting what I could remember of the opening stanzas of the Transformations, and religious poems my mother had copied out, and wishing I had anything, anything to eat.
The little black-coated figure down in the bottomland to my left, the farmer, had sat down on a tussock of grass and his horse was grazing.
The little black-coated figure down at the wood’s edge to my right, my father, was on his tall red horse, walking him up and down, into the wood and out of it. I saw some other little figures move towards him among the trees, people on foot. I stared at them and blinked and shouted out at the top of my voice, “Canoc! Ahead of you!”
I ran to Greylag, startling him so he shied away at first and I couldn’t get hold of the reins. I swung up on him awkwardly and headed him down the hill, kicking him into a run.
I had lost sight of Canoc, of the men I had seen— had I seen them? Greylag slipped and stumbled down the hill, which was too steep for him. When we got onto level ground at last, it was bog and mire, and I could see no one ahead of me. I urged the horse towards the trees, and we got onto drier ground at last. I had just realised that Greylag was lame in the left foreleg when there was a man in front of me among the trees. He had a crossbow and was cranking it, looking to my right. I rode straight at him yelling. The old stallion, not trained for battle, swerved to avoid him, but clumsily, knocking him down with a hind hoof, galloping on into the trees. We passed something on the ground, a man ruined, split open like a melon. We passed another man lying like a heap of rubbish in a black coat. Greylag ran limping out of the woods into the clear again.
I saw my father not far before me. He was swinging Branty around to face the woods again. He held his left hand out and high, and his face was alight with rage and joy. Then his expression changed, and he looked towards me for a moment, whether he saw me or not I do not know; and he bowed forward and slipped from the saddle, sideways and forward. I thought he meant to do this, and did not understand why. Branty stood, as he had been trained. I heard somebody shouting, behind me and to the left, but I was riding to my father. I slid off Greylag and ran to him. He lay near his horse on the boggy grass, a crossbow bolt between his shoulder blades.
Ternoc was there, and others of his men, and one of our people, all coming around us, shouting and talking. Some of them ran off into the woods. Ternoc knelt beside me. He lifted up my fathers head a little and said, “Oh, Canoc, Canoc man, oh no you won’t do that, no.”
I said, “Is Ogge dead?”
“I don’t know,” Ternoc said, “I don’t know.” He looked around. “Get somebody to help us here,” he said.
The men were still shouting. “It’s him, it’s him,” one of them yelled, running to us. Branty neighed and reared, protesting all this confusion. “The adder, the fat adder, he’s burst open, dead, unmade! And his bastard cattle-thief son beside him!”
I got up and went over to Greylag. He stood lame, his weight off the left foreleg. I walked him over to Branty so that I could hold both horses.
“Can we put him on the colt?” I said.
Ternoc looked up at me, still bewildered.
“I want to carry him home,” I said. “Can we put him on the colt?”
There was more shouting, and more men coming and going and running, before at last a plank was-brought that had served as a footbridge over a brook. They laid Canoc on that, and so carried him up the long hills to Roddmant. They could lay him on his back, for the bolt had gone right through his breast and stood out a foot in front. I walked beside him. His face was calm and steady, and I did not want to close his eyes.
♦ 18 ♦
The graveyard of Caspromant is on a hillside south of the Stone House, looking towards the brown slopes of Mount Airn. We buried Canoc there close beside Melle. I put her brown shawl around him before we laid him down. It was not Parn but Gry who led the lament for him.
Mismanaged, like the boar hunt, Ogge’s foray had split into two groups; one went astray in Geremant and came out on our borders, where they did nothing but set a barn afire; our farmers drove them off. Ogge and Harba had stayed on the forest path, ten men with them, five of them bowmen. Canoc destroyed Ogge and his son and one of the bowmen. The rest escaped. A farmer’s son of Roddmant pursued them too far into the woods, where they turned on him; he wounded one with his boar lance before they brought him down. So the foray ended with five deaths.
After a time word came from Drummant that Denno and her son Sebb wanted an end to the feud, asking Caspromant to send them a white bull calf, as Canoc had promised, in sign of agreement. They sent with their messenger a fine roan colt. I rode with the group that took the white calf to Drummant.
It was strange to see the rooms I had been in but never seen, the faces I had known only as voices. But nothing moved me much at that time. I did our business there and returned.
I gave the roan colt to Alloc. I rode Branty now, for in that rush down the hill Greylag had strained his leg past repair, and he was out to grass now in the home paddock with Roanie. I went out to them every day or so with a panful of oats. They were glad to be together, and I often found them standing as horses do, close side by side, nose to flank, their tails twitching the May flies away. I liked to see them so.
Coaly ran with me whether I was afoot or on horseback, set free of her leash.
After a death it is the custom in the Uplands for there to be no selling or division of property, no marriages, no great undertakings or changes made, for a half year. Things go on as they were, as nearly as can be, throughout that time, and after that whatever settlements must be made are made. It is not a bad custom. In the matter of making peace with Drummant I had to act; otherwise I did not.